


It might be Lonelier

by silvercolour



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Brief Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hugs, Kissing, M/M, Martin is very practical and doesn’t have enough self-presevation, Not-Evil Peter, Peter is a bit of a dummy but he does care, just saying, non-canonical vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour
Summary: When Martin finds out that Peter is a vampire he doesn't know what to do. Not at first, anyway.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2020, Silver's tma fantasy AUs





	It might be Lonelier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zykaben](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zykaben/gifts).



> Written for the 2020 secret Santa! I hope you enjoy the gift, my lovely giftee^^
> 
> CW for a single and short instance of non-consensual blood-drinking at the beginning of the story, which is then discussed, and measures are taken to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
> 
> NOTE on the AU: Vampires are known to exist, although it isn’t widely known that the Lukases are vampires.
> 
> Title comes from the poem "it might be lonelier" by Emily Dickinson, which is a very Lonely poem and very good.
> 
> Do you ever just... project your own need for hugs on a fic? Yeah.

The first time it happens is on a monday morning, and he doesn’t ask permission.

Martin doesn’t appreciate that.

He is bringing Peter tea that he expects to find untouched on Peter’s desk by the end of the day. But it’s only polite to make Peter some as well, as he’s making tea for himself anyway. Last week Martin had knocked and waited for at least ten minutes before walking in to find the office empty, the word “Tundra” in Peter’s bold handwriting on the calendar the only explanation of where he might be. So this monday morning, Martin walks into Peter’s office without knocking, and briskly announces: “Good morning, Peter. I’ve brought your tea.” That is when things go very wrong, and very fast.

Peter is standing by the window when Martin comes in, looking outside at a London that was either smoggy or foggy, Martin isn’t sure. Before Martin can take a second step into the office Peter has lunged at him, slamming the door shut, and pinning Martin against the door, his big hands on either side of Martin’s head. And before Martin gets the chance to even open his mouth to ask _what the hell, Peter,_ Peter has attached himself to Martin’s neck, and Martin feels a stinging, _biting_ pain there.

The cup of tea tumbles from Martin’s surprised grip, shatters on the floor– and just like that it’s over. The sharp sound seems to wake Peter from whatever gripped him, and he lets go of Martin’s neck (he was _biting_ Martin, what on earth is happening?). Peter’s lips are stained red, and a small trickle of blood is making its way into his salt-and-pepper beard. For a single moment they stay where they are, Peter’s hands framing Martin’s head, both of them leaning against the door. From this close Martin could count the wrinkles on Peter’s face, and he can see Peter’s pupils contract from impossibly-large and very dark to normal in the literal blink of an eye.

The next moment Peter is retreating to his desk, a hand clamped over his mouth. He barricades himself behind the desk, and does not remove the hand to say: “Apologies, Martin. I was– It won’t happen again.”

Martin raises a hand to his neck, and feels the blood there. His fingers come away sticky, but he doesn’t feel a wound. He checks again: definitely no injury. And yet it hurt. And yet there is blood on his neck, on his fingers. On Peter.

Martin can guess what this is. He’s seen enough vampire movies, has heard enough rumours, especially since he started working at the Institute. Some of those rumours were even quite scary, but you shouldn’t believe everything they tell down in Artifact Storage, everyone knows that. So Martin skips straight past fear, and confusion, and settles for a disbelieving kind of anger: “What kind of drink did you think I was bringing, Peter??”

Peter doesn’t seem to have an answer to that.

“And were you just going to let me bring you tea forever, despite the fact that you literally _cannot_ drink it?” Martin’s voice pitches higher than the question should require. Perhaps he didn’t quite skip the fear thing after all. He forges on anyway: “At least warn me, next time you decide you’re thirsty.”

“The… next time?” Peter says carefully, like he expects the words to break.

“Well I can hardly let you attack the first random person that you meet whenever you’re thirsty, can I?” Martin replies, still trying for anger, and beginning to sound slightly panicked even to himself. “It’s better if it’s only me.” 

Martin takes a steadying breath, attempting to calm his racing heart. “Can I ask what brought this on? This doesn’t seem to have happened at the Institute before, or I’d have known, what with the amount of gossipping everyone does.” Peter scoffs at that. “You seem to have good self control from what I've seen– why would you just…” Martin can’t quite bring himself to say the words ‘drink my blood’. They feel too real, somehow; as though those words have the power to change the situation from a weird one into a scary one.

“I don't expect you to understand, Martin. This is something... Well. It's family business–“

“Does that mean you can't tell me or that you don't want to?” Martin’s voice is sharp, more so than he intended. Definitely not skipping panic, he thinks.

“Can't it be both?”

“You attacked me! I think it's only fair to give me at least _some_ explanation.” Inhale, exhale. Yelling at his interim-boss will not solve the situation, Martin knows that. But Peter is making it very hard to do anything else. “You said this is family business. Does that mean that your entire family is like this?”

“The ones who stay with the family are. But you must understand that this is not easy for people of our... affiliation,” Peter says the word with some distaste.

“Then how do you guys survive? You never want to be close to anyone, how does that work?” In trying not to be angry Martin finds himself becoming fascinated instead. How would the Lukas family, known affiliates of the Lonely, deal with something that must be a curse for people like them? Requiring living humans regularly, and in close proximity… Martin wonders how that came to pass. Would someone have done this to the family? Did they do this to themselves, in an effort to isolate their descendants? Did they become Lonely because they're vampires, instead of the other way around?

“We are the living Loneliness, and yet we are dependent on other people for our very existence.” Peter heaves a world-weary sigh. “We survive both by putting a lot of effort into remaining Alone– and usually only drinking from people once and then never seeing them again.”

Hold on. That’s not great news for Martin. “Is that your way of saying I’m fired?”

“No! Not at all! Which is why I’m sorry that this even happened in the first place. You were never meant to know of this at all,” Peter rushes to say.

“I mean, I appreciate you trying to keep me safe, I think? But I really, really do not like being kept in the dark, Peter.” Martin rubbed at his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. “But now I do know, so I can help you with it.“

“I could never ask that of you, Martin–“

“Which is why I’m not asking. It’s better if it’s me than some new stranger left traumatized by the experience every single time.”

“Martin…”

“Besides, I know you probably hate getting into contact with that many strangers, right?” He’s not even sure why he’s offering this, it’s not like Martin _wants_ to be injured on a regular basis. It _definitely_ isn’t out of loyalty to his bloody job. 

Somewhere, deep down, Martin thinks he might be projecting, just a little bit. That if he himself were a vampire in this situation he’d want someone to offer this, to help him, to stay with him, to be there for him… He chooses not to examine that feeling, and instead buries it deep. No good can come of thinking like that. Constantly being alone is getting to him enough as it is.

“You’re not wrong, but –“

“And I don’t particularly fancy having to deal with the fallout if this becomes known. That the director of the Magnus Institute, a _paranormal_ _research facility_ , is an actual vampire. Because we both know you will not be there for that mess. So I’m calling it now: if I have to be the one to deal with this anyway, then I will deal with it my way. And my way is by making sure it never happens to anyone else.” 

For a moment they stare at each other across the room. His gaze seems to be holding Peter pinned behind the desk, and for a moment Martin wonders if this is the Eye’s influence before discarding the thought as silly. Martin can see Peter weighing his options, deliberating whether it’s worth it to get so attached to a single person versus having the option of not having to meet many people for his future feeding.

When Peter speaks, he speaks slowly, as though he thinks Martin might run, or take back his offer: “If I were to accept this offer–which is a very kind offer, I should mention– but if I were to accept, you must understand that you cannot tell _anyone_. Further, you also need to understand that this means you will need to take extra good care of yourself.” Peter fidgets. “And also that we will be in much closer contact.“

“I mean, yeah, _obviously_ –“

“I mean besides drinking your blood. Because this also involves a certain amount of care that a vampire has to take, if one is to drink from the same person more regularly.“

“I think I know how to take care of myself, Peter,” Martin doesn't mean to sound as upset as he does, but for goodness’ sake, he’s an adult! He can manage!

“This is not up for discussion Martin. I am inflicting injuries. I have inflicted an injury already, and would be doing so on a regular basis.“ Peter stands from his desk. Before he can continue Martin decides to change the subject.

“All right, and if I accept those terms, how often would you need to drink my blood?“

“Not very often. It depends somewhat on how much blood one takes at a time, of course,” Peter’s face says that he knows what Martin is trying to do by changing subjects, but he goes along with the discussion anyway. “However, I would not take a lot of blood at once. This does mean that it will be necessary to drink from you a little more often, but you’ll be able to recover sooner and you should be able to carry on with your job as normal.” Here Peter hesitates for a moment. Openly discussing this seems to be harder for him than it is for Martin. “Of course, if you do not feel up to your job after… Having your blood drunk, you are free to take the rest of the day off, or take extra breaks as needed, as part of the compensation for this… Service that you are providing.”

Martin remains quiet, not sure if he’s grateful, or just surprised that Peter doesn’t intend to send him straight back to work every time this might happen.

“I should hope you do not think me unreasonable, Martin.“

“No, I’m – unreasonable is... Well. You did just attack me.“

“So I did. And I do not believe I have apologized for that yet. Which I do. I apologize. It was not nice of me to not warn you in advance.“

“Yeah, it definitely wasn’t.” Martin sighs. “Definitely do warn me, next time.”

“But besides being entitled to take whatever time you need to recover, I would consider it a personal favour if you would let me make sure that you are alright. That you are eating enough and sleeping enough and –“

“That’s none of your business, Peter. It feels like– like you’re trying to look after a pet or–“ before Martin can go down that line of thought any further Peter interrupts him.

“Please don’t ever assume that I would think of you as such, Martin. This is a question of honour. Not because you are someone who happens to be part of my diet, shall we say?” Peter hesitates, then adds: “And it’s something I would very much like to do for you.”

The feelings Martin tried to bury, that wish of someone being there for him, that need for someone who might look after him flood him now. He doesn’t answer, because if he does he might voice those thoughts. Which might scare Peter away. And he doesn’t want to do that, not now.

“So those are my terms for me to accept your very generous offer, Martin. Will you agree to them?”

Martin would like nothing better. “I accept.”

The smile that stretches across Peter's face is the most genuine smile Martin has ever seen on him. “Wonderful!” Peter walks over to Martin briskly, and takes his arm. It’s only then that Martin realizes he never stopped leaning against the door for support.

Peter walks Martin to the chair in front of the desk, and leaves him for a minute. It’s not long enough for Martin’s thoughts to stop spinning. What’s he done now, what did he get himself involved in this time? Then Peter is back and hands Martin a fresh cup of tea. Martin clutches it’s warmth close.

He stays in the office for longer than is strictly necessary. He has finished his tea, and declined Peter’s offer of more tea. Peter simply works in silence, allowing Martin time to recover. Martin can’t tell if Peter is working on things for the Institute or not, but he can’t really find it in himself to care. He thinks he’s feeling fine, physically, but he just… does not want to be alone. Not yet. Peter lets him.

* * *

Peter does indeed warn him the next time, more than a week later. He even asks Martin to sit down first, and pulls out the chair for him like they’re about to have dinner at a nice restaurant. The comparison to the restaurant makes Martin giggle a bit. He wonders if he would be considered fine dining. He decides not to ask Peter.

The biting still hurts. And yet every time the pain goes away as soon as Peter lets go of his neck. The resulting haze is pleasant, a not-quite dizzy feeling accompanied by tea, and also snacks. And company. The company is especially nice. Martin finds himself looking forward to the next time, longing for that simple bit of quiet _existing together_ without having to talk, without having to leave.

* * *

It keeps happening after that, and Martin finds Peter true to his word. Martin gets to take as much time as he needs, though he finds he doesn’t usually need very much time at all. Peter is really only taking a little blood at a time.

The pain of being bitten never changes, but Martin gets used to it.

A few weeks they’ve been doing this now, and Peter has been drinking Martin’s blood about once a week. Maybe twice if he decides that Martin shouldn’t lose as much blood at once. Martin has been noticing that Peter's skin is starting to look less ghostly pale.

He decides to ask Peter about it: “You seem less pale than you did when– when you first drank my blood.” He chooses not to call it an attack. He knows it wasn’t on purpose, but he doesn’t want to upset Peter, who still seems to feel quite guilty about his actions. From what he’s been able to gather from their not-talking, anyway. If Martin is honest he’s mostly judging all this by the extreme carefulness Peter has displayed since.

“Why thank you, that would be my new diet,” Peter jokes, a twinkle in his eyes, like they share a secret. Martin supposes they do.

Martin cannot help a sarcastic joke in return: “I’m glad you’re eating healthier.”

When Peter does not reply to that he continues: “I mean it though, Peter. You look better, healthier.“

“More alive, you mean?“

“That too. But I guess what I’m trying to ask is how you came to look so bad in the first place?“ How did he come to attack Martin, Martin doesn’t ask. He thinks Peter might hear the hidden question anyway.

Peter does not respond immediately, but leans back from Martin and stares off into the distance over his head. Martin allows him to gather his thoughts. He’s come to realise that there is no use rushing Peter. The man will either give you an answer at his own pace, or there will be no answer at all.

Eventually Peter speaks: “I may have forgone feeding... for longer than was wise. And what with having recently been away on the Tundra... What I originally thought was going to be a _bit_ of a long time without food, turned into quite a long time. Which resulted in the unfortunate incident that has led to this.“ Peter waves a hand between them to illustrate what ‘this’ means.

“Peter… You keep saying I need to take care of myself because you are injuring me, but you also need to take care of yourself. Because you are injuring yourself by not eating properly. And then apparently that results in other people being injured by you,” Martin says, carefully, gently. Peter's hand is still on the arm of Martin’s chair. Trying not to spook the vampire. Trying to make the vampire look after himself. How did this become his life?

“Other people in this case meaning you. I know, Martin, and I truly am sorry–“

That is not quite what Martin means, but he’ll take it. As long as the big idiot keeps looking after himself, and does not isolate himself without food again. “I know, Peter. You’ve said that. And I’ve accepted your apology already; more than once, even.” To hell with it, he’ll risk it. Martin takes Peter’s hand in both of his own. It may be the first time he’s ever touched Peter, besides being bitten. His hands are larger even than Martin’s hands, and very cold.

“It’s not just a safety thing, Peter. It’s just– I just–“ how does one explain to the Lonely Made Manifest that you worry for them? Martin doesn’t know. “I’d like you to be alright. Not– not just eating to survive, but actually feeling good?” An indecipherable look crosses Peter’s eyes, and Martin has to look away. He quickly takes back his hands and folds them in his lap. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure that’s against the Great Plan or something, I’ll just–“ that’s as far as he gets to ramble before two arms encircle him in the biggest bear hug he’s ever been given.

For a moment Martin freezes, waiting to wake up from what must be a dream. He doesn’t wake. Instead he allows himself to melt into the hug, leaning against Peter. It’s surreal, something he never thought would happen, even after the blood drinking, and the shared moments of comfortable silence. 

When Peter releases his hold Martin makes a small, involuntary whine. It’s a soft sound, but seems very loud in the quiet office.

“Oh, Martin, I’m so sorry,” Peter whispers.

That shakes Martin out of his thoughts, out of the wonderful feeling of safe-warm-close. “Why are you apologising, I don’t–“

“I’m sorry for not seeing it sooner, Martin,” Peter says, folding his arms back into what may be the best hug ever, as far as Martin is concerned. “I didn’t realise you might need more than just food and rest. I said I’d look after you, and I intend to do so.”

For a long moment Peter simply holds him, and Martin feels a little like he could dry for joy. “I was raised to shy away from such feelings, even in myself. Perhaps especially in myself. But that’s not a reason, or even an excuse for ignoring your needs, Martin. And I cannot deny that I feel very selfishly glad to be able to hold you like this.” Peter’s words sound like a confession, and Martin isn’t sure how to reply to that at all. So he chooses not to, and simply hugs Peter back in response.

* * *

Martin would say nothing quite so strange has ever happened to him, but at this point it’s no longer sure that’s true.

Their newly obtained familiarity no longer feels quite so fragile as it did that first time. Martin finds himself looking forward to it. He even finds he cannot stop thinking about it. This closeness, something as simple as a hug, feels so much more intimate, so much more important than it has ever felt with anyone else. He is not sure if his current situation is to blame for that, or if it’s something to do with Peter. These days Martin finds himself longing for that simple quiet closeness that he shares only with Peter whenever he meets someone else.

His thoughts keep returning to that first hug they shared, even though there have been many since. Whenever they meet behind closed doors Peter greets him with a hug, even if Martin is not there for drinking blood but only delivering some documents that require signing.

More than that first hug, Martin catches himself thinking of new things, of new ways to be close to Peter. The weather has recently taken a turn for the colder, and though he’s sure Peter isn’t affected by it, Martin had decided to knit him a scarf.

Peter rarely takes off the scarf, from what Martin can tell. Every time he sees Peter wear it the ember of warm-close-safe in his chest flares. Martin thinks he might even call that ember “love”, but that feels… Big. Dangerous. So he holds off on calling it that, even to himself.

Instead he thinks about how physically close Peter comes to him every time he is enveloped in one of those amazing warm hugs, and wishes Peter wouldn’t leave. Wishes that they could be even closer together than that. And decides to do something about it the next time they meet.

* * *

Their next meeting turns out to be when Peter needs to drink his blood.

As Martin closes the door behind him, Peter is already hugging him, almost before the door is closed. They do not talk much most days, but Peter says: “I’m glad to see you, Martin. How are you feeling?”

He does this every time. He’ll hold Martin at arm’s length, and look at him critically, and ask him how he’s doing. If Martin is feeling under the weather, or even just tired, Peter will refuse to drink Martin’s blood. The first time that happened Martin’s heart sank. Yes, he had been feeling less-than-great, but what he wanted, what he _needed_ , that day even morehan usual, was someone to hold him. What he needed was Peter. And when Peter said no, Martin feared he’d be sent away. That was, after all, their deal. He was wrong.

Instead what happened was that Peter hugged him extra tight, and escorted him to the newly obtained couch on the far side of his office, and sat down with Martin. Then he had proceeded to order in a meal for Martin, and hadn’t left his side except to make tea.

Today, when Peter asks him how he is, Martin replies with a resounding “good”. He can see the joy his answer gives Peter shining from his eyes.

When they have made their way to the couch Martin undoes the first button of his shirt, but hesitates over the next one. Peter notices right away.

“If you ever have any doubts about this, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“I do. Thank you for worrying, Peter. I’m not having doubts. It’s just– I was just–“

“There is nothing you can say that would upset me, Martin. Please feel free to tell me what’s bothering you.”

But that’s just it. It’s not something he can say. Martin isn’t sure if he should tell Peter he wants to kiss him for… so many reasons. He’s Martin’s boss! What if Peter isn’t interested? What if Peter says yes just to make Martin happy? What if it makes this weird friendship they have awkward?

Sitting next to him on the couch, Peter is waiting patiently for Martin to figure out what he wants to say. And it’s that patience that makes up Martin’s mind, more than anything Peter could say.

Very slowly Martin leans close to Peter, until their noses are almost touching and they share the same breath. For a moment they look at each other. Peter raises an eyebrow, just the tiniest bit, as if to ask Martin if he’s sure about this. Martin can only lean in closer in response, and ever so softly touches his lips to Peter’s.

A hand comes up to hold his neck, and Peter breaks their kiss to breathe a question against his lips: “Martin?”

Sometimes Martin wishes Peter would stop being careful and just attack him again, to not be held like he is fragile, but like something to be enjoyed, like someone wanted.

“Please,” is all he can say, but somehow it’s enough. Somehow, the message he’s been trying to send has reached Peter. Peter uses the hand on his neck to crash their lips together, and licks into Martin’s mouth with a hunger he hasn’t shown before.

He is suddenly incredibly close, and the heat of his tongue only serves as a reminder that there are some very sharp teeth just behind those lips, and that thought is enough to make Martin keen out loud. The sound makes Peter attack his mouth hungrily, and he doesn’t stop until Martin feels himself grow dizzy from lack of air. Peter leans back, but not before softly biting Martin’s lower lip.

A drop of blood rolls down Martin’s chin as he gasps for breath, and Peter leans in to lick it off. His pupils are that same impossibly large size that Martin has come to associate with a vampire’s drinking blood. Except perhaps it wasn’t the blood that caused it this time, he thinks.

Peter pulls Martin close, and rests their foreheads together. “Will you finally believe me when I say there is nothing you can say or do that would upset me, Martin?”

Martin chuckles, still a little out of breath, and presses a kiss against Peter’s nose first, and then his lips again: “I do.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think, I love hearing from you guys!


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